


A Conversation That's Not About Dora

by stereolightning (phalaenopsis)



Series: The R/T Fics [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas during HBP, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 02:03:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalaenopsis/pseuds/stereolightning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Remus talk (and don't talk) about women, and other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Conversation That's Not About Dora

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starfishstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishstar/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Conversation That’s Not About Veela](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126374) by [starfishstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishstar/pseuds/starfishstar). 



> This is a remix of starfishstar's _A Conversation That's Not About Veela._

Christmas lunch had come and gone in a flurry of flying gravy, escaped maggots, and general Weasley cacophony, punctuated by the unexpected appearance of Nymphadora's ex-boss with a very frosty Percy in tow. Now, late in the afternoon, the remaining Weasleys had scurried off to private pursuits – the twins to business, Arthur to the washing-up, and Ginny to studying for OWLs – and Remus had ended up sitting by the fire with Harry.

Bill and Fleur had floated off to the neighboring village of Ottery St. Catchpole together, and had made rather a display of helping one another bundle up against the cold. Sometimes Bill looked a lot like Fabian Prewett – with the interesting additions of a jagged fang earring and a fawning French paramour. At times, Remus was quite sure that Molly was thinking the same thing. It must be bittersweet for her, he thought.

Then again, Remus was sitting next to a near-perfect replica of a sixteen-year-old James.

This was what it was to survive a war: you watched the children grow up with the faces of your departed friends, and you tried not to bring it up too often.

Honestly, though, James could never sit quietly by a fire. At minimum, he would start charming the coals to dance a tarantella.

Harry was a far less restless soul than James, but he nonetheless must have felt the need to do _something_ , because he sat up straighter and said, "Ron thinks any bloke would be mad not to fancy a girl like Fleur. What do you reckon, Professor?"

Harry blinked rapidly and backtracked.

"I mean – I didn't mean – I'm not implying that __you__ –"

"No, no, I know what you mean," said Remus, wondering what passed for sex education at Hogwarts these days. Probably the same as always – stern mutterings from Poppy Pomfrey, and the collective hope that the parents would take care of the rest. "At least, I think I do."

"Oh, good," said Harry, exhaling. "Okay." He fidgeted a little with a tassel-covered throw pillow that had been hit by a charm out of one of the Christmas crackers, and which kept creeping eagerly over Harry's shoulder, as if it wanted to whisper into his ear. "I think what Ron said, actually, was that nobody would ever fancy somebody like, say, Tonks, if Fleur was around."

Remus nearly bit his own tongue. This was the third time Nymphadora's name had come up tonight. "Did he?"

"Yeah, which – I know it sounds dumb, to say it like that. Tonks is great and all, really."

Had she worked a double shift just to avoid uncomfortable questions? Remus himself had almost turned down Molly's invitation, but a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Lily's had told him to stop being an idiot and go eat some turkey. He had actually prepared a few things to say to Tonks in case she dropped by – had written a script in his head, in fact, complete with stage directions – but she never had appeared. _Enter stage left, the person once called Moony. Enter stage right, the beautiful and troublesomely persuasive Nymphadora Tonks, who inconveniently returned Moony's feelings last year, to his utter surprise –_

"We all really like Tonks," Harry continued. "But Fleur is… Fleur."

"Quite," Remus said, happy to be directed away from his melancholy line of thought and toward the much frothier subject of Bill's pretty girlfriend and the trail of besotted boys she left in her wake. Harry didn't seem to feel her amorous effects quite as keenly as Ron did, but perhaps the whole business was confusing to Harry.

"However," Remus continued, "these things are entirely subjective, of course, but personally I happen to consider Tonks eminently worthy of being 'fancied,' as you would put it. I find her not only beautiful, but also a number of things I value even more, such as clever, and funny, and rather terrifyingly good at the work she does." He cleared his throat, feeling that he might have oversold his point. Well, Tonks _was_ those things. You didn't have to be in love with her to see any of that.

Anyway, Harry's question was not about Tonks, but about attraction in general. And perhaps about the allure of the French. (What was the name of that moody Alsatian girl Sirius dated after they left school? Francoise?) "Whereas a woman such as Fleur is not really my type," said Remus, "and never has been. With no offence meant to Fleur, of course – I'm sure she's a lovely person, I simply don't know her well enough to say."

Was it Francoise? Or perhaps Marie-Francoise? She had smashed all of the dishes in Sirius' flat in a fit of pique. Sirius had actually seemed quite pleased.

"Is it always like that?" Harry asked. "I mean, that the pretty girls are also the difficult ones?"

Remus laughed, thinking of Harry's mother, who had been _very_ pretty and _very_ reasonable. "Harry, I think you can answer that one yourself. Think of all the beautiful girls you know and ask yourself if that last proposition holds any weight at all."

Harry blushed, glanced in the direction of Ginny's bedroom, and then returned his attention to the charmed throw pillow.

"Yeah, well, the good ones are usually taken already, aren't they?" Harry mumbled.

Harry flicked the tassels of the pillow agitatedly and said, "Er, like, look at Ron, right? It does look a bit silly, doesn't it, fancying someone who's with someone else?"

Harry's voice betrayed a note of bare longing.

"Harry," said Remus, "I wish I could tell you otherwise, but this is one of those things that will simply not always be easy. Sometimes, what you want won't be possible. Sometimes all you can do is let go."

He had planned to say this to Nymphadora, if she had come. _This isn't possible. Let this go._

"I suppose he can't help it," Harry ventured. "She's part Veela… I remember what it was like at the Quidditch World Cup, seeing all those Veela at once." Harry's eyes went round behind his glasses. Perhaps he was not so immune to those Continental charms after all.

Remus smiled again. "There's nothing wrong with admiring beauty, Harry. But a man needs to understand the difference between infatuation and love. I imagine, though, that Ron's interest in Fleur will pass in time, so no harm done."

Harry glanced again in the direction of Ginny's room. "Professor…" he started.

"You really needn't call me 'Professor,' Harry. 'Remus' would be perfectly fine."

"Er… right." Harry frowned, and then ploughed on. "Anyway, my dad –"

"Was obnoxiously obsessed with Lily for years as a teenager, yes," said Remus, recalling James' rambling soliloquys about 'that bossy redheaded prefect,' which usually started after his second butterbeer. After they were married, James would still get pissed and rhapsodize about Lily, and she would smirk and threaten to write it all down and read it at the next Order meeting, and then he would carry her, giggling, to the nearest bedroom. "Don't hold it against him, Harry. What's far more important is that they both loved each other so very deeply, after they grew up a bit more. If you remember nothing else I tell you, I very much hope you'll remember that. Your parents remain one of my strongest models of what it means to truly love."

Harry succeeded in wrestling the pillow back into its original position. "When did it change, then? I mean, when did it stop being infatuation and start being something else?"

"Oh, dear, I think I've made myself out to be wiser than I really am, if you're asking me questions like that." Remus leant forward to take up the poker from its stand next to the fire and nudged a few errant embers back into place.

"All right, here's my go at it," he said, after reflecting on how best to sum it up. "It changed when James started caring more about Lily being happy than about whether she ever ended up returning his feelings. And, rather ironically, that was the point when she began to see that perhaps he had a bit of depth after all, and maybe he was worth a second look."

Harry sighed.

Remus watched the coals flesh over with grey ash. Had he not made a remarkably similar plea to the fates? He very much wanted Nymphadora to be happy. Let her fall out of love, he thought, or infatuation, or whatever it was, and stop pining over a destitute Dark creature with whom she could never truly be safe.

She did love him, though, didn't she. She had said the words.

Still gazing into the fire, Remus said, "It's not an easy place to reach, that kind of caring without needing to possess. But one can try. And sometimes, one must."

She had said the words, standing outside St. Mungo's, in front of that absurd window tableau with the unfashionable mannequins. Her hair had been startlingly long, straight, and black – perhaps in mourning for her cousin – and as the summer rain licked the roofs and pavement, making a sound like a snare drum, she had kissed Remus full on the mouth and said the words.

Remus shook himself.

"Goodness, the things I'm saying to you! I apologise, Harry. Please, ignore my ramblings. We were talking about your parents."

"Actually, I think we were talking about Veela," Harry said, with a suddenly arch expression.

Remus chuckled. "We were, weren't we? How in Merlin's name did we get started on that?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Harry said plainly.

They smiled at each other, and Remus was transported back to the present, which, all things considered, was not such a bad place to be – a warm house, a full stomach, and the company of friends.

"Truly, Harry, these things will work themselves out in time," Remus said, feeling a bubble of affection for Harry pop satisfyingly inside his chest. "I haven't the least doubt you will find great love in your life. It's simply the kind of person you are."

Harry looked skeptical.

"Though you would, perhaps, do well to steer clear of Veela," Remus added, frowning. For a moment he considered telling Harry an anecdote about Sirius, a Veela, and a one-way ticket to Minsk, but this felt like the wrong moment. "Beauty that seeks to conquer all who see it is not the worthiest kind of beauty you could seek out."

Harry scratched his nose. "Yeah, I'm with you on that one."

"But someone who is not only beautiful, but also kind and clever? You really can't go wrong. Just to love a person like that is a privilege in and of itself."

Harry seemed satisfied at that. Mostly.

It was possible, thought Remus, that he might go on loving Nymphadora even after she moved on to someone more appropriate. But he had lived through worse, and he could live through that.

For now, at least, he was in good company, in this house of noise and passion.


End file.
